


Fragment

by neveralarch



Series: Banners from the Turrets [8]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Abuse, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 11:56:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20907272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: Rung's the Chief Medical Officer of the Decepticons. He has a life, he's in love, he's not a scared little nobody therapist, at the mercy of the functionist Council. He shouldn't feel like this, not anymore.Unfortunately his processor won't just listen to reason.





	Fragment

**Author's Note:**

> This fic takes place mid-war but is closely related to [Swallow Your Own Key](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19167019). It contains past physical/sexual/emotional abuse (vaguely described) and the emotional fallout of abuse (more explicitly described). Please let me know if you need details.

There were hands on Rung's plating. He tried to squirm away, but shackles held him fast, spread-eagled and vulnerable to the mechs that surrounded him. The hands ran over Rung's shoulders and down his chest plate. Fingers circled his spark window, pressing too hard, scratching the glass.

"Don't tease him," said someone. Rung didn't know how many mechs were in the room. He couldn't see. They'd taken his glasses, and the lights were too bright. There could be dozens. Hundreds. Rung shuttered his optics so he wouldn't try to guess.

"Why not?" someone laughed. "This is his function, isn't it?"

Hands slid over Rung's legs, pausing to squeeze his thighs.

"He's our ornament," purred a voice. "Our bauble. Our toy..."

Fingers pried at Rung's interface panel, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the catch gave. He clenched his jaw so he wouldn't whimper. He couldn't let them know that this was hurting him. He couldn't show weakness.

There was a hand pressing down on Rung's throat, and Rung—

"Rung!" Megatron's voice broke through like a sledgehammer driving through concrete. "Rung! Rung, wake up!"

Rung jolted into consciousness, his fans roaring as they fought to dump hot air out of his overclocked frame. Something was wound around his legs, and someone was holding his shoulder, and Rung kicked out, desperate to be free. Megatron grunted and flinched back, and the horrible feeling of hands on his plating faded.

Rung took a vent of blessedly cool air. Another. Another. Slowly, his processor began to put two and two together. Someone had been touching him. He'd struck them. Megatron was watching him warily, rubbing a scuff mark on his chest.

"Oh!" Rung reached out toward Megatron, although he couldn't quite bring himself to actually touch. "Oh no, did I hurt you?"

"I'm alright." Megatron settled back to sit on the berth. _Megatron’s_ berth, they were in Megatron’s quarters, on Megatron’s flagship. Nowhere else. Rung’s vents tried to speed, and Rung forced them into a slow rhythm.

"Did you have a nightmare?" asked Megatron. “I heard something about the Council.”

Rung shivered. He could feel a slight strain in his voicebox, and he wondered if he'd been screaming before Megatron woke him up. "No. I didn’t—It was a memory. Just a memory."

"What can I do?" Megatron sounded almost plaintive, which made Rung's processor spin and his spark ache.

"Nothing," said Rung. "Don't worry, I'm fine." That's right, he was fine. "It all happened a long time ago," he said. "It's over now." And it had never gone further than groping, had it? The Council had pushed the boundaries of decency, but they'd been too concerned with their illusions of respectability to break them entirely. It was silly to be upset over something so minor, when other mechs had lost their faces, their hands, their lives. Rung had been let go, in the end, back to the life the functionists allowed him to have. He'd left all of the unpleasantness behind him. He'd coped. He didn't need to dredge all of it up again. "I'm fine," he repeated. "It's almost time for my shift, isn't it?"

Megatron didn't look particularly convinced by Rung's assurances. "Maybe you ought to rest."

"Don't be ridiculous." Rung's legs were tangled in the berth cover. He carefully unwound the mesh, picking it free from his knee joint. "I have responsibilities. I'll—" 

Rung's voice caught. He was struck suddenly by the image of opening the door of Megatron's quarters, stepping out into the corridor. There were other mechs out there, mechs who would look at him. Stare at him, maybe even reach out a hand to grasp at him. Rung's tank squeezed in his chest, and he curled one fist in the cover.

Megatron was watching Rung, the light of his optics burning crimson against Rung's plating. Rung fought with the urge to hide himself beneath the berth cover in his hand. He _liked_ the way Megatron looked at him. He knew he did. Nothing had happened. Nothing _new_ had happened. Why did he feel this way?

"You can take a day off," said Megatron, carefully. Like he was worried Rung might shatter if he pressed.

"Yes," agreed Rung, feeling defeated. "I suppose I can."

\---

Rung laid on the berth, useless and worn. Reduced to a shamble of misery and inertia, by a memory more than a century old.

He wasn't even sure that it was a memory. He hadn't been tied up very often, during the endless testing of the census. The Council hadn't needed to restrain him to keep him in their power. But he had been constantly reminded of the power they had over his awkward, non-standard frame. Little, familiar touches. Demeaning words and unfriendly, hungry looks. A hand on the small of his back, curling around his hip, spreading his thighs apart and—

Rung grabbed a pillow and pressed it against his chest, hiding his spark from anyone who might come in. He bit his lip until it dented, and slowly, slowly, the memories began to recede.

He was Chief Medical Officer of the Decepticons. He was a therapist. He was Rung. He wasn't the uncomprehending _thing_ the Council had imagined him. He was sentient. He had a purpose.

_Our ornament..._

Rung curled forward, pressing his face against the pillow. It would be easier, maybe, if there had been one perpetrator. One horrible mech, morally bankrupt and drunk on power. But it had been everyone. Some had touched him, some had simply looked on with disdain. None of them had thought of him as a person, with his own thoughts or desires. How could you fight something like that? How could you protest? It wasn't as if he could reason with the Council, not when they thought him nothing but an inconvenience. A wind-up mechanism who made meaningless noises when it was squeezed.

The door slid open, and Rung tried to force his shoulders to relax from the sudden tension. Starscream, it was just Starscream. The door was still locked, it was only that Starscream had the codes. 

Didn't Starscream have duties? Rung checked his chronometer and realized second shift had ended a few minutes ago. He'd been lying in the dark for almost a third of the day.

"Megatron asked me to check on you." Starscream closed the door behind him, sealing the room off from the light and noise of the hall. "He said you were having, hm. Difficulties."

Rung nodded, his helm scraping against the berth. Difficulties. Megatron had left hours ago, too burdened by the responsibilities of command to waste time watching Rung shiver and fail to sleep. Rung knew he couldn't take it personally. Megatron wouldn't have been able to help, even if he'd stayed.

"You look awful," said Starscream. "Like your face is melting."

"Sorry," mumbled Rung.

"It's not _your_ fault." Starscream circled the berth at a careful three-foot radius, as if emotions could be contagious. "I killed them, you know."

Rung dimmed his optics, feeling them throb at the half-remembered lights. Of the hall. Of the Council's meeting rooms. "Who?"

"The functionists," said Starscream. "Not the Council, unfortunately. But Soundwave and I slaughtered their lackeys. They begged for us to spare them, to spare _them_. It made me laugh as I tore Senator Proteus to pieces. Do you want to see?"

There was a tremor in Starscream's voice, and Rung onlined one optic to find Starscream leaning close, the dataport in his wrist bared. Starscream, who snarled and fought at any hint of vulnerability, offering his memories up as a _comfort_.

Rung ought to feel touched. Anyone else on this ship would. He ought to feel fond, or proud, or horrified, maybe, if he was still hanging onto his morals despite lying in Megatron's berth. He ought to feel anything except nauseous at the idea of his data jack trapped in another mech's port.

Rung hesitated long enough that Starscream's expression flickered with hurt before he drew back and snapped his port closed. "Suit yourself," Starscream said. "Tell Megatron I _tried_, at least."

"I will," said Rung. He laid on the berth, waiting for Starscream to leave him alone again. But Starscream just began to pace, back and forth, his null ray powering into an obscenely comforting hum.

"What are you doing?" asked Rung, after an hour or so of watching Starscream prowl the perimeter of the room. 

"Nothing," snapped Starscream, his wings hiking up. He made a sharp left turn and mumbled something Rung couldn't quite catch.

"Sorry?"

"I told you not to be sorry!" Starscream stopped and pressed one hand against his face, taking soft deep vents in the way Rung knew Aglet had taught him, because Rung had taught it to Aglet. Forcing himself to keep control, for _Rung_. Rung didn't know what he'd done to deserve that, not when he was nothing but a broken toy huddled under a flimsy berth cover, hiding from a vague memory of being touched.

"I wish I could kill them again," said Starscream. "I wish I could hold one of the councilors down for you, and hand you a knife."

"I don't—" began Rung, but Starscream was pacing again.

"I know you wouldn't do anything _violent_," said Starscream, helm turned to stare at the door. "But I wish you would."

\---

Starscream had to return to his duties at the beginning of fourth shift. Rung turned his chronometer off, after that. He hated watching the time pass, feeling the phantom crawling on his plating refuse to dissipate.

What would he have done, if Starscream had broken into the headquarters, caught One of Twelve by the helm, and bared his throat for Rung? Rung wasn't sure he wanted to know. Easier to dismiss it as impossible, to remind himself that he hadn’t even known Starscream then. And Rung had survived, hadn’t he? He’d walked out of the functionist headquarters for the last time with a limp in his step and joy in his spark, and told himself that everything would be all right. That he would cope. That he would heal. That he would forget.

It hadn't mattered, what they'd done to his frame. He hadn't been _violated_. He hadn't. Just prodded and pinched and teased. Rung could get over it, he'd fought so hard to get over it. He'd worked, until they took that away from him. He'd loved, and no one could take that away. And still, all it took was one dream. One bad dream, and it felt like his world was crumbling—

"Hello," said Aglet, and Rung clutched his pillow so tight it nearly popped. He'd missed the door opening. What else had he missed? Anyone could be in here.

"It's just me." Aglet crept a few steps closer to the berth, leaning forward to peer at Rung. "I brought you some process blockers. Starscream said you were having a panic attack."

"It's not a panic attack," said Rung, automatically. "Panic attacks are typically brief but intense. You know the symptoms, don't you?"

Aglet bit his lip. "Hyperventilation. Spark pain. Nausea. Uh..." 

"Dizzyness," said Rung. "Tingling in the extremities. Am I presenting with a panic attack?"

"Not _now_," admitted Aglet. "But Starscream seemed pretty worried. He even came to therapy on time."

"I'm fine," said Rung. Aglet didn't leave, so Rung dredged through his processor for a real answer, something that would satisfy Aglet's training. "I think my processor is just running a defragmentation routine on some old repressed trauma. Probably resurfacing because my risk relay calculated that I'm finally secure enough to deal with the emotional fallout."

Aglet folded and unfolded his many fingers. "Okay. I mean, that sounds bad. Won't a blocker help?"

"Process blockers are for reducing the emotional stress of new traumatic experiences," explained Rung. "Not for trying to heal trauma when it's already set in. Trying to block a trauma defrag might lessen some of my stress symptoms now, but it'll also allow the cause of those symptoms to persist, and then the next defrag will be that much worse. It's better to let it run its course."

"Oh." Aglet thought on that for a while. At least Rung could still be useful as a case study, if nothing else.

"Would it help to talk about it?" asked Aglet, at last.

"Yes," said Rung, because it was important that Aglet knew that, if this ever happened to anyone else. Then Rung rolled over, pillow and all, and took soft deep vents until Aglet finally gave up on him and left.

\---

It should have been easier for Rung to recover, now that he knew what was happening.

It wasn't.

Megatron came back at what was probably the start of first shift. His frame blocked the light from the hall as he entered, and he shut the door securely behind him. Rung could hear the faint reassuring hiss of the hydraulic lock engaging.

Rung hadn't expected Megatron to come back. Silly. These were Megatron's quarters.

"Have you moved at all today?" asked Megatron.

"No," said Rung. He'd thought about getting up to use the washracks, after Aglet had left. He felt grimy, disgusting, as if he was still smeared with fingermarks. But moving seemed an impossible task. It was easier to just remain on the berth.

"Starscream said you didn't want to see any Senators die," said Megatron. "And Aglet said you weren't having a panic attack but you also weren’t interested in talking." He took a step forward and knelt by the berth, his helm close enough for Rung to reach out and caress, if Rung could bring himself to do it. Rung couldn't. His spark _ached_.

"Tell me what you want," murmured Megatron, his optics fixed on Rung's own. "Tell me how I can help."

The need bubbled up in Rung's chest, bursting out of his mouth. "I want to be held," he said, despairing, clutching the pillow he was still curled around. "but I don't want to be touched."

Megatron looked up at Rung, frowning—but it was a considering expression, not displeased, not frustrated. Rung looked back at Megatron, ravenous for something he knew he couldn't have.

Megatron reached out and picked Rung up, pillow and cover and all, bundling Rung into a soft cocoon without ever touching Rung's bare plating. That was bearable, just, and it became better than bearable when Megatron eased himself up into the berth and laid them down, together. Megatron's chest pressed against Rung's cover-wrapped back, and his arms held Rung tight even as mesh kept their plating from touching. Rung squeezed the pillow, drowning in comfort, and Megatron squeezed Rung in return.

"They wouldn't listen to me," said Rung, his voice muffled by the mesh of the cover. "They didn't care."

"I know," said Megatron. Rung could feel the rumble of his voicebox, reverberating through both of their frames. "They never did."

"I _don't_ want to talk." Rung's engine hiccuped, and he had to take a few vents to keep it from backfiring. "I just—"

"Shh." Megatron was so warm. Rung could feel the heat of his engine even through the cover. "I wish I could fix this for you."

"You can't," said Rung. "It just takes time. I'll feel better tomorrow, once the defrag ends."

He could feel the truth of it as he said it. He even felt better _now_. Not healed, not yet. Not ready to feel another mech's hands on his hips or his throat. But better.

He'd be able to talk, eventually. He'd be able to touch. He wouldn't want to watch Starscream's bloody memories, but he'd be able to appreciate the thought behind them.

He'd be able to press his face into Megatron's neck, and feel something other than sick panic. He wanted, so badly, to feel anything else.

"I'm sorry about today," said Rung, into the poor, abused pillow. "You're being very good to me."

"You deserve it," said Megatron. "Never apologize."

Rung laughed, and this time his engine did backfire. He was lucky it wasn't too loud, lucky that his engine only had to power an ornamental therapist and not a tank or a convoy.

"Are you having a panic attack now?" asked Megatron, sounding half-panicked himself at hearing a perfectly normal engine noise. "Should I get—"

"No, no." Rung reset his voicebox. "No, it's just—that's what Starscream said. That I shouldn't be sorry."

"Oh." Megatron settled, his arms tightening around Rung's frame. "I suppose Starscream can be right, every once in a while. Don’t tell him."

Rung had to stifle another burst of laughter. He must have fallen into recharge again without noticing, this _had_ to be another dream. Megatron comforting him, admitting that Starscream was right—absurd.

“The Council would be horrified,” said Rung, because you could say things like that in a dream. “Their misfit toy cuddled against a miner with heretical ideas of _equality_.”

“You’re not a toy,” said Megatron. “You’re Rung. You’re the strongest mech I know.”

“Please.” Rung squirmed, uncomfortable with the unearned praise. “I laid in your berth all day because of a nightmare.”

“You don’t have to be strong every day,” said Megatron. “I’m here. You can lean on me.”

Rung let his optics dim and his shoulders relax back into Megatron’s chest. “That’s nice,” he murmured. “I wish you’d say that when I’m awake.”

There was a whisper of air over Rung’s helm, as if Megatron was just holding himself back from touching without the safety of the mesh between them. “All right,” said Megatron. “I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, consider sharing it on [twitter](https://twitter.com/neveralarch/status/1180526714620915717?s=20), [tumblr](https://neveralarch.tumblr.com/post/188150672974/fragment-neveralarch-the-transformers-idw), or [DW](https://neveralarch.dreamwidth.org/102742.html)!


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